


Time to Say Hello

by GalaxyGhosty



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:44:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Arthur Fitzgerald Pennington notices when he opens his eyes that morning is that there is a severe lack of <em>something</em> deep inside of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time to Say Hello

**Author's Note:**

> For The Diamond Day over at themerlinfandom on Tumblr. 
> 
> I legitimately wrote this in like an hour and a half, and despite my two lovely friends giving it a beta, there are probably still a lot of mistakes. Oh well. I just wanted to write something cute and quick, and I think this is one of my first fics actually dealing with reincarnation. 
> 
> It was fun, at the very least. Please enjoy!

The first thing Arthur Fitzgerald Pennington notices when he opens his eyes that morning is that there is a severe lack of _something_ deep inside of him. 

It's hard to explain really; it's like a weary absence yet he can't possibly think of anything that's particularly missing. He checks all of his body parts—has ten fingers, ten toes, two eyes, two ears, a nose and a mouth, and from what he can tell, all of his teeth. He presses a hand to his chest, and feels his heart beating at a rhythmic, slow pace in his chest. He takes air into his lungs easily, with no issue, which makes him draw that the conclusion that he's fine. 

Yeah, there isn't anything conceivably wrong with him. But yet, he still feels _its_ weight like a dull pain, just enough to be uncomfortable. The feeling churns grossly in his stomach, and it's then he decides that really, he just needs to eat.

So Arthur Fitzgerald Pennington, twenty-one years old, bright eyed, blond hair, and college golden boy, dismisses the feeling as nothing else but a few late blooming nerves for his presentation today. 

He pulls himself out of bed, unconsciously moving around the clutter that litters the floor, grumbling to himself and making a mental note to yell at Gwaine yet again that he needs to pick up his shit, because one of these days Arthur _will_ break his neck tripping on something, and Gwaine will regret it for the rest of his life, because Arthur, as a very unfriendly ghost, will make his life a living hell. 

Arthur shuffles into the bathroom and turns on the faucet, splashing his face with cold water. He brushes his teeth with that weird, minty toothpaste that Gwaine knows he fucking hates, but buys it anyway because he thinks it's lovely, and if _Gwaine_ thinks it's lovely, it's got to be, right?

(Wrong. Gwaine is _always_ wrong.) 

Either way, Arthur exits the bathroom moments later and finds a pair of clothes that are nice, neat, and that smell clean. He's not sure if they are, entirely, but Arthur, for some odd reason, is just too tired to care, despite how he's normally a bit of a neat freak. On any other day, the mere thought that he'd be wearing anything that hadn't been washed and dried would make him crazy. But today? Not really. They aren't wrinkled and they aren't stained with anything, so _really_ , how dirty can they possibly be, right? 

Right. 

He shrugs the shirt on and buttons it up, folding up the sleeves to his elbows. Arthur pulls on the trousers and in the middle of doing that, glances around the room for his tie and shoes. Though he's not entirely uncomfortable in business attire, he still thinks it's ridiculous that, as a student, he has to dress formally to give a presentation that no one is really going to be paying attention to. 

Still, Arthur doesn't make the rules, even if his dear old Dad is a rich bastard that sponsors a lot of the school's programs. He figures it's a small price to pay to keep his father sated, at any rate. If Arthur caused a ruckus, well, it wouldn't go over well for him, more than likely.

(And if he can avoid the headaches his father gives him, he's a happy young man. Even if his mother does soothe him after a particularly uncalled for scolding, which is always nice.)

He takes a quick glance around the dorm and makes another mental reminder, a double reminder, if you will, to yell at Gwaine to clean up his shit. 

(Seriously. It's unseemly.)

Arthur grabs his bag and flash drive with his presentation saved on it, and heads out the door. He decides that with a good hour or so before he needs to be at class, he can take some time to get a coffee, possibly eat breakfast, and go over his files a bit before the whole ordeal. Arthur's not a particularly nervous soul, nor does he get cold feet when it comes to presentations, and though he's been preparing for a while, he knows that last minute checks aren't such a bad idea. 

There's a nice little cafe that he's a little in love with, an oddball hole-in-the-wall sort of place that makes the best coffee he's ever tasted in his entire life (and that includes the rich, expensive brand that his father makes). His best friend's girlfriend, Gwen, works there, and starting his day off with her bright smile isn't such a bad start at all.

(Gwen's smile could cure cancer. He's nearly sure of it, scientific evidence be damned.)

It's not too far off of campus, so Arthur makes it a point to walk there. 

When he arrives a few minutes later, the bell chimes above the door and he's filled with an immeasurable amount of joy because of this, for some reason. It's as though the single bell toll has just taken away all of his negative thoughts and replaced them with sunshine, rainbows, ducklings and other grossly adorable things that could cure cancer. 

The sweet aroma of coffee wafts through the air, and he smiles, letting out a long sigh. Arthur surveys the area, and notices a few people here and there, drinking their morning fix, some looking sleep deprived, others simply enjoying the morning. 

Arthur walks to the counter and, upon noticing no barista behind, waits patiently for him to arrive. 

What he expects is Gwen's sunny smile, wishing him good morning and relaying his exact order to him for confirmation. What he gets, is not that at all.

A young boy approaches the counter, dimpled smile and warm, blue eyes that feel oddly familiar to him, like he's seen him before. Black hair curls around his ears, a little scruffy, but otherwise, it suits him in a way Arthur never thought possible. He's pale and a little lanky—no, lean—and radiates the air of happiness, which, on a normal day, Arthur would find annoying.

It's not a normal day. 

“Hey, good morning,” Blue Eyes says kindly, waving his hand, as if to prove his point. “Sorry 'bout the wait. What can I get for you?”

His voice has a slight lilt to it, but is otherwise very English, and Arthur finds himself painfully attracted to it. Which is ridiculous. You can't be attracted to someone's voice, can you?

Arthur clears his throat. “Coffee--” 

“I got that bit,” Blue Eyes grins, lips quirking into a mischievous little smile. “And in it?”

Arthur most _certainly does not_ flush at that. Of course not. Arthur Fitzgerald Pennington does not get flustered by mischievous smiles from cute baristas. 

No way. 

Arthur opens his mouth to complete his order, when Blue Eyes waves his hand. “I'm just teasing. Sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me this morning. Two sugars and cream, right?”

He must look confused, because Blue Eyes goes on, “Gwen. She's a good friend of mine, not to mention we work together. She told me you might come in. You're quite a regular, you know? She memorized your order, 'cause you get the same thing all the time.”

“It's how I like it,” Arthur says, as a way of response.

“Then it's coming right up,” Blue Eyes quips, and rings him up. 

Arthur pays for his coffee and while Blue Eyes gives him his change, he notices the nameplate on his shirt, reading: _Hello, my name is Merlin._

_Merlin_. Against his wishes, he smiles. It fits him, in a surreal sort of way. He didn't think anyone who wasn't in their seventies would fit the name Merlin, but he does. 

A few minutes later, Merlin hands him his coffee. “Here you are, then. Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” he grins, taking pleasure in Merlin's raised brow. “ _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin looks taken aback for a moment, as if confused, as if not quite understanding, so Arthur reaffirms, “Your name tag.” 

He lets out a breath. “Right. Of course. Sorry. Enjoy your coffee.”

Merlin smiles at him again, and if Arthur didn't know any better, it's a little strained. But he simply goes to one of the tables by the window, and drinks his coffee slowly as he goes through notes, and prepares himself for his presentation. 

After about ten minutes, his coffee's finished off, and he feels just a little bit more confident about standing up in front of everyone and rattling off everything he knows about his topic. He knows that it's a little egotistical to have chosen Arthurian Lit as a class, but hey, it's his namesake, right? Plus, the class has been phenomenally interesting this year.

Camlaan. That's his topic. And isn't he lucky to know practically everything there is to know about it? 

As he leaves, he hears Merlin call, “Good luck on your presentation, Arthur!”

It's not until halfway back to campus that he realizes he never told Merlin his name, nor did he ever mention he had a presentation. 

~~

Arthur's presentation goes rather well, in all honesty. He doesn't get nervous, and doesn't stutter as he rattles through his work, and it's only at near the end that something strange starts to happen.

As he recollects King Arthur's final moments on the battlefield, a searing pain shoots through his head. 

It's one of those pains that wasn't there before, and suddenly is, consuming him in a matter of seconds. Images flash through his mind, too quickly for him to see, yet, he feels as though he's already seen them, somehow.

He sees _himself_ , in armor, fighting a boy, younger than he, and the battlefield (Camlaan, he thinks. This place is Camlaan, but he doesn't know how he knows this) is surrounded with the dead. He and the boy are the only two alive, the only two breathing, but not for long, somehow he knows it's not for long—

But it changes so fast, and he's there, with—with—the barista? Merlin? But he looks different. His clothes are different, medieval style. And he's crying, holding him, whispering words he can't understand, but he knows them, deep within him.

_I have magic. I use it for you, Arthur, only for you--!_

Magic. Magic isn't real. Merlin? Magic? Camlaan? 

Another flash. He's dying—no, King Arthur is dying—and Merlin is there again, holding him, begging him not to go, and there are words, so quiet, so faint he scarcely hears them...

_When Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again._

It's then that he remembers _everything_. Just like that. All of the other memories just come flooding back to him.

He breathes in. 

_Oh fuck._

How exactly do you go from being Arthur Pennington to Arthur Pendragon in approximately two minutes, anyway?

“...Mr. Pennington? Mr. Pennington, are you alright?”

Arthur shakes his head, and realizes that he's standing there, staring off into space, his classmates and professor gazing at him as if he's lost his mind. 

He clears his throat. “Yes. Yes, I'm sorry, sir. I don't...know what came over me.”

Which, is not entirely a lie. He doesn't really know what just happened. Going from memories of a college student to memories of a medieval king was a rather big leap, if you asked him. 

His professor scrutinizes him a bit, but relents. “Very well. Proceed, Mr. Pennington.”

Arthur does so, but can only think of one thing as he concludes his presentation.

_Merlin. Merlin._

~~

The first thing Arthur Fitzgerald—no, Arthur _Pendragon_ notices when he enters the small hole-in-the-wall coffee shop is that there is a severe lack of his idiotic sorcerer. 

Typical.

Frustrated, tired, and very, very confused, Arthur is about to leave when he hears Merlin quip, “Back for more coffee?”

He turns, and sees Merlin standing behind the counter, the picture of innocence, as if he doesn't remember, as if he's never been an all powerful sorcerer in his entire life.

Arthur narrows his eyes slightly, and Merlin actually looks nervous as Arthur stomps over, leans across the counter, grabs him by the collar and does the one thing he's wanted to do since meeting him. 

He kisses him. 

There are actually kisses in the world that are heart-stopping, perfect, and lovely, with fireworks going off in the back of your mind and the smell of strawberries that somehow always gets added into the mix. But this is not one of those kisses. In all reality, it's actually awkward, fumbled, and really, really messy and off-center, but it's something Arthur's wanted for a very long time. 

(Emphasis on _very_.)

He pulls away and Merlin looks dazed, and for a second, Arthur fears he really _doesn't_ remember. But slowly, as if understanding, a smile forms on his lips, and his eyes light up in such a familiar way that Arthur aches for it. 

“Hello, sire,” Merlin says mockingly, but his eyes glitter with mirth.

“Hello to you too,” Arthur replies, as if it's the only thing he's ever wanted to say. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is _always_ appreciated!


End file.
